I’ll write what I want to. I’ve been sitting on this thought for a couple of days. I recently read a horrifying story on one of the blog sites about a mother who lost her 1st baby because the cord got compressed when her water broke. I was terribly sad for this lady, and still am, but then went on to read that she was apparently attempting a home birth, with a midwife at the ready for “The Big Event”. So, no fetal monitors, no trained personnel, and no benefits of modern medicine. Had she had these luxuries, she would have had an emergency c-section, and likely had a beautiful baby girl to take home with her. Oh, wait, she did have these luxuries. There was a birthing center close by! I’m still not sure if this complete malpractice of obstetrics was due to the patient’s ignorance in insisting on a home birth, or misguidance on the part of the midwife due to some delusional belief that it’s safer for the baby to avoid all that modern stuff. I guess some people are willing to take the risk. Hell, no. I don’t think so. I’m grateful everyday that I’m fortunate enough to live in a city where there are DOCTORS to take care of me during my time of need, HOSPITALS in which to carry out this endeavor, and FETAL MONITORS to record my baby’s every movement, heartbeat, and distress level. I’m sorry to offend anyone’s delicate, earthy sensibilities, but if you’re so afraid of a needle that you put yourself and your child at risk of DEATH by not coming to a hospital/birthing center to be monitored, I really have to wonder if you’ve read anything written in the latter half of the 20th century about childbirth. Now, my perspective is likely skewed due to the time I practiced in L&D. I was a shit-magnet. I would walk into a room and dumb shit would happen. I told you all about the baby grabbing my finger while still in utero. I once witnessed a baby turn breach in the womb. I was hooking up those monitors everyone seems so afraid of, and watched the woman’s abdomen turn into the Bering Sea in January while the baby readjusted his surroundings. I assisted in a c-section delivery where the cord was being compressed under the baby’s head, but hadn’t prolapsed through the cervix. Baby’s FHT just crashed with no warning. That baby lived, though, thanks to that modern medicine. Actually, all those babies lived. Mother did too. I kinda wonder what goes through those’s “alternative care professionals'” minds when their patient gets to carry home a baby that they couldn’t have saved. I’ve heard the arguments about how women have been birthing babies for thousands of years, yada, yada, yada. These same people always seem to forget that during those thousands of years, lots of babies DIED as a result of birthing complications. Oh, yeah, and they tend to forget the mothers did too.
I’m also a fan of better living through chemistry. If God wanted us to hurt, he wouldn’t have invented anesthesia. If a patient wants to have natural childbirth, then, by all means, let her do it. Support her, bring out all the toys (the birthing balls, stools, squat bars, the works), breathe appropriately, whatever she needs to get through this. However. Your beliefs are not always the patients’ beliefs. If a patient decides after the 10th contraction that she’s made a huge mistake and wants an epidural, pain medication, whatever, dammit, she wants it! She needs it! I once heard a midwife tell a patient “Oh, if I give you anything for pain before you reach 5 centimeters, it could stop your labor.” I’m not shitting you. (Imagine me, nostrils flared, breathing heavily, pissed off mother ape when I heard this.) That is such bullshit. So, I argued. What about those patients who stall out at 3 cm? Huh? What about them? Do they just get to lay there and suffer? Deal with it, stupid, this is what you signed up for? Is that your attitude? Not only is that not true, but they have this wonderful little drug called Pitocin, which is a hormone secreted by your very own pituitary gland in nature, and is also synthetically manufactured, that not only induces labor, but can be used to give it a bit of oomph. I can hear the battle cries now. But what about the risk to the baby? Oh, yeah. Those fetal monitors I was telling you about? Yeah, this is when they come in handy, see, cause they can be used to monitor the baby’s stress level and heartrate, so at the slightest poot of a hint of distress, we trained professionals can come swooping in to save your baby. All that natural stuff is gonna be a pretty poor consolation prize if your home birth/natural delivery/no need for healthcare professionals turns out badly. Just so you know, I don’t like needles and unnecessary medicine any more than the next person. I’m a nurse. I work around it every day, and thank God every day that it’s not me on the receiving end. But, I’ve lost a baby. Due to circumstances completely beyond my control. I went through the hell that is Post-partum Depression. I’m still in it, although the jumping bean is helping tremendously. (I know, it’s a fragile state I’m building for myself, but that’s another post.) I’ve been there, and having been there, I would walk through the fire of a thousand suns, become a friggin’ pin cushion of IV sticks, be pinned down on bed-rest indefinitely, and suffer whatever the doctors and nurses wanted to dole out if it means my baby might be one iota safer. Thanks for letting me rant.

In other news, his name is Fletcher. No word on a middle name, as yet, but stay tuned….

I really need to work when I’m at work. And only work. And only think about work. I read a book by a certain tv celebrity called Be.lly Lau.ghs. I should never have read this book. I usually can’t read books that dumb down pregnancy and delivery for the masses such as the Wh.at to Exp.ect…. books, and others, because they get on my nerves, and I have the hardest time trying to decipher what they’re talking about. I’m too medically minded. I get in trouble a lot at home for speaking ‘nurse’. Not that they’re not educational for the masses, but I’ve seen the end result, and in reading pre-natal records for several years, reading your blogs, and having my own delivery experience that I’d really rather forget, I’m to the point that I kinda think I get it. I think I know what to expect. I know what anesthesia people I want already, I know who my nurses are, I even know what they’re gonna say. Well, for a normal delivery, anyway. C-section or otherwise. Whatever. I realize that the only way I know these things is that I worked with them, and I’m a narcissistic control freak. But it’s very comforting for control freaky people like me, and I’m ok with that. However, after reading this book, I had an argument with my husband because it freaked me out to the point of insanity. This book talks about all the things she was afraid that she did wrong the whole time, and her reactions to other people. And in my sane brain (not the placenta-fied one) I know that she didn’t do anything wrong. But people kept coming up to me all day and asking me if I knew she had a son that was autistic. Which I also know has nothing to do with anything, but when my husband accused me of begging out of cleaning the bathroom because I was being lazy, instead of not wanting to breathe the chemicals which can cause birth defects, I flew into orbit. You know, that place I’ve kinda been in and out of for the last few weeks anyway. *sigh* I’m a little bit obsessive. And I think I’ve been repressing some fears that sorta came out of my mouth in a pile of shit I slung at my poor husband along with his pillow and a blanket last night. I apologized, but I don’t know if he’ll ever forget it, or forgive me. It really wasn’t his fault. Although, I’d like it noted that I wasn’t being lazy. Much. I’ve worked too much this week, with no end in sight, I’m not gonna get a maternity leave, I’m not gonna be able to stay home with my child, no word on the job front for my husband, and I can’t figure out how to put someone I work with in her place without making my job more difficult or tattling to the higher ups, or getting accused of “lateral violence.” Yeah, apparently that’s a new buzzword for bullying, standing up for yourself, or generally correcting stupidity. I never knew I was a bully, but apparently, having high expectations of people, voicing them, trying to be nice and get along, and generally trying to make it a nice, safe day for everyone makes me a pushy bitch with rn-itis. This is a buzzword made up many moons ago by people who resent having to work with nurses who they think abuse their power. Apparently, we’re all lazy, bossy, and afraid to get our hands dirty. I missed that memo, I guess. I think I’m a little stressed out. I need a margarita, but I think the doctor’d probably frown on that. *sigh again* Sorry for the radio silence, but I’ve just been too tired when I get home to do more than halfway keep up with all of you, or post myself at all. I did have an appointment with my OB this week, but I can’t post any pics cause my husband’s laptop that is hooked up to the scanner took a shit. And it’s gonna cost $125to fix. So I won’t be posting pics anytime soon. But my SON is a flasher, albeit in utero. I’m so proud.

Well, when we got pregnant, YCU had a job. We were ahead of the bills. We were having fun planning our nursery, and picking out names. Not so much anymore. *sigh* He’s really beating himself up over this. And I hate that. This wasn’t really his fault. I don’t want him to self-flagellate. So, he’s been on the web, applying like crazy. They were really nice at work, and are letting me work as much as possible. Have to cut back on everything. No eating out for a long time. Probably little or no maternity leave. Busting and making the mortgage payment. All I can do.

In other news, I’m bustin’ out. Had to officially switch to maternity clothes. One girl at work is bringing me her scrubs. Another offered to bring me a carseat. I’ll take whatever I can get, at this point. People at work keep telling me I’m not showing at all. Well, they don’t see me in my regular clothes. And I think I felt him move several times this week. I also figured out the reason I was getting sick. I started blowing technicolor chunks this morning. I get a sinus infection every year around this time. I got a script for some antibiotics. Hopefully, I don’t get any sicker, cause now I can’t afford time off. Wish me luck.

Oh, disgust, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I’m learning to love you, because soon, I’ll forget what it was like not to feel disgusted. Well, didn’t get to church this morning, because my husband didn’t even ask if I needed my car for anything and just took off in it. Do you think God will appreciate the intent? I really hate when he just takes off in my car and doesn’t tell me, and I really, really, really hate it when he takes off in my car and inconveniences me so he can go get parts, gadgets, etc for the car that he’s working on that isn’t currently running. I fully intended on going to the grocery store in it as well. He can be the most inconsiderate bastard sometimes.

I took the guys who are helping him work on the car to breakfast this morning, and as I was standing in Waffl.e House, I realized I needed the restroom. I get in there, and realize I had the wrong end pointed towards the toilet. I jumped up and was sick, but in my exuberance to aim appropriately, and not make a mess in their restroom, I got too close to the seat and some water splashed on me!!!! I wanted to hose myself off in bleach!!! Thank God I had my glasses on, or I could have been exposed, ya know? I promptly washed my face, hands and glasses, as soon as I could stand upright, but…just…eww. This could only happen to me. Ever, in the history of the human race. I think I’ll go back to bed and start over. In fact, could I just start my life over, please?

Oh, dear God. Please don’t let my husband get fired. Please, please, please. He got a ticket this week in his work truck, and then he bumped a dumpster in a parking lot where he was delivering. Didn’t damage anything, just had to get someone to air up the tire, but they’re looking for anything, right now. I can’t work enough to pay for our lifestyle. I just can’t. We’re about to have a baby, we’ve got bills to pay that we’re behind on some of them because the stupid worker’s comp people didn’t pay him on time, the car’s broken down, and now this. Oh, God. Please. I’m praying, cause that’s all I can do. This has just been a horrible week. This is what I’ve always told my husband was gonna happen because he won’t bother anyone (like to move their car so he can get to where he needs to get to) and doesn’t think ahead and tell the people that are angry with him for delivering late that the company is enforcing the time limits on their driving for safety, so they’ll have to take it up with them. Please don’t let him get fired. Please!

UPDATE: Well, he’s been suspended till Monday. Hopefully, this means they won’t fire him, just put him on probation or something. Keep praying, please! I’ll keep up my end at home. I think I’m going to church in the morning.

The fucking car that I told him not to buy, that he already had a car that ran perfectly, that I told him was 22 years old and bound to have problems. You know what he told me? He wanted to get something he wanted before the baby got here, cause he knew he’d never have anything he wanted again. I wasn’t convinced, but I told him, fine. If he just had to have it, he was not to spend any more money on it than what he got selling the perfectly running car. That’s probably still running perfectly in North Carolina, somewhere. Yeah. Well. Let me know how that works out for other people, cause now, the engine died, it has rod knocking (what he said), and my pregnant fat ass is gonna have to get up at 2am and drive him to work. Never mind how he’s gonna get home. Never mind that I have a dr’s appt in the morning, and have to go to work right after that. Where there are patients that depend on me to be alert and not tired. And it’s gonna cost approximately $2000 to fix, which we have to get a loan for. Just when we were paying stuff off and finally gonna be in a good position. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he did this on purpose, just so I’d have to keep working and not be able to stay home with “The Chunk.” I am so pissed off. You just don’t even know. We are not amused. At all. Even a little bit. And the thing about it is, I don’t want to be right. I want everything to work out according to plan, but I’m too practical and far-seeing to really believe it. He says this is me being “negative.” I say it’s me being realistic. But I can’t help telling him “I told you so” especially when it was me telling him the whole time not to do it, and now I’m the one being inconvenienced and put upon. Why can’t he listen to me and see the same things I see, instead of “oooh, something pretty and shiny, and I WANT IT!@#$!” Can you say “toddler”? I can’t even yell. I just want to cry. It never fails. Just when we’re getting to a point where we can take a breath. He always gets mad at me for questioning him. What am I supposed to do? When I let him go, he does stuff like this!!!

we had a team meeting, and it was just mainly going over the best ways to practice current policies. Ok. My manager had come to me a few weeks ago and requested improvement in one area, so I did. Now, she’s not worked with me since, so she’s not seen the improvement, but I believe in practicing the performance, so to speak. During this meeting someone (a surgical tech, who I am in charge of , and resents it) brought up that some of the nurses don’t seem to take a certain procedure “seriously.” And (as she was looking at me) “some of them talk so fast, there is just no way to keep up.” Well, the girl sitting next to her pointed at me and nodded, in front of everyone. Oh, yeah. I was furious. This same girl (the pointer) has turned me in for dumb shit before and gotten me written up, so I feel like I’m on thin ice already. I’m not a bad nurse, I do my damndest every day to make sure everyone does what they’re supposed to and that the patients are taken care of. What a bitch. You’ll all be proud to know that the 1st thing to come into my head (I can’t help it if your stupid little countrified bitch ass is used to only listening to stupid slow people with no teeth! I don’t have 45 minutes to pander to your delicate sensitivities! Pay attention, moron!!) did NOT come out of my mouth. At least, not until later, and not in front of that person. However, I don’t need this. I do not need this stress right now. I paranoid enough as it is. And another thing, how dare she do something like that in front of people? If she really didn’t understand what was going on, why didn’t she just stop and ask? She’s trying to get me fired, and it’s not gonna happen. I went to talk to my supervisor, who witnessed the whole thing, and told her that I was pissed the fuck off. I also expressed my fears and paranoia, which I probably shouldn’t have, but she did reassure me somewhat, that she would come and evaluate the situation. I realize I’m a four-alarm fire with a cannon on the front of my face and the energy to match, but damn! I’m not speaking Spanish!! Or portuguese, or french, for that matter! Her inability to pay attention is not my problem, and I said so, to my boss. If people only gave me credit for the things I manage to hold in, I’d be up for damned sainthood! And the people at work would probably think I had an anger disorder, or something equally stupid. I don’t, I just don’t have any patience for people who can’t think outside the box to get things done, but try to tell me I’m stupid for doing so. (coughHUSBANDcough and others) So, later in the afternoon, I was going through the procedure and everyone was talking, and not paying attention, so in my best projectile vocal tone, I hollered over everybody “HEY HEY HEY!!! Everybody paying attention, now? Good. Time out….” And trust me, I can project. Remember I told you I used to sing in the choir before I realized I couldn’t sing? (Think Barney Fyfe. Yeah, it was that bad.) Well, they did teach me a few things, and I was loud and obnoxious to begin with. My mother used to ask me how someone so small could make all that noise. Hee, HEE HEE!! The md asked me why I was so grumpy, and I told him “Because they said we had to be. Have to make sure everyone is paying attention.” Humph. Fixed that wagon.

No, I didn’t just acquire a beautiful Indian Hunk. I meant the ornery bastard that lives just above my tootie. I just burst into tears after reading a post on Lost and Found. I don’t know how to link things, but if you click that link on my blogroll, scroll down to Kirtsy’s Pick of the Day. It described my feelings exactly. I can’t walk into Babys R Us. I can’t stand to listen to other people talk about their kids/babies. Every time I see a stroller, I have to look away. I have to force myself to go to my brother’s house to see my nephew. I’m sobbing right now. I just had to jump up and run to the bedroom so my husband’s friends wouldn’t see me crying. They’ve already seen me righteously pissed off today, and if they see any more emotion, I’m afraid they’ll offer my husband to come live with them. At least until the demons have been exorcised from my body. He’d probably take them up on it. I want the cute socks, and the beautiful crib, and the ribbons and the decorated nursery. I want the carseat, and the toys and the teeth marks on the furniture. (I figure it won’t be new anymore by the time I may ever have a baby.) I even want the spit-up and the nasty poo pants. Ok, maybe that’s going too far. But I don’t think I’d complain, at any rate. I have to deep-breathe and blink each and every time I hold my nephew. I love him, but I don’t just want to be “Aunt Nina.” I hate family gatherings now because everyone’s watching to see how I’ll react to him. Yes. Everyone. I understand the concern, but I really wish I could just see my grandparents during the week when it’s just me, not with 50 other people present. I’ve had to send baby gifts with my grandmother, or give the gift before the shower cause I couldn’t make myself go. It hurts so much to have to give one of my blankets away. Which is stupid, cause that’s why I make them, but every time I finish one, I’m hoping to have a reason to keep it. This feels so selfish. I used to enjoy giving people the baby blankets I made for them. Now, I can’t bear to see their excitement. I want to give without the coveting, like I was taught as a kid, but it’s gotten so hard. The last one, I broke down and ran from her (the mom-to-be) after shoving the sack in her hand. Yeah. I really felt mature and adult-like then. Can you hear the sarcasm? She found me, and understood, luckily, but I don’t want that to happen again. I really want to just be able to cry about something happy for once. I haven’t been happy in so long, I don’t even remember what that feels like. Not my marriage, I didn’t mean that, I just meant on the inside. People can wish me well all they want, but it’s not gonna get me pregnant any faster. It hurts so much.

I’m falling victim to the monthly anger/bitterfest. Not only am I not pregnant, I am not dealing well with taking crap from anyone. I’m really bad at taking shit from people on a regular basis, but this borders on scary. I take shit all day long at work, then when I come home, my husband thinks it’s funny to bait me and give me stupid answers instead of straight ones. I don’t have time for that shit! It absolutely sends me into orbit. Oh, and there’s people in my house all the time. I hate people being in my house all the time. I want to come home and veg out, and relax, and I can’t because I can’t watch what I want on tv, or talk to my husband about whatever, because I don’t want all his unclean, un-housebroken friends to know all our business. Apparently, he doesn’t care if they know it, cause he was baiting me today because he thought I wouldn’t make a scene with them there. I did. And I didn’t care. If he’s gonna have these people in the house all the time, I’m not gonna hold it in anymore. I hate the way he’s laid out the new furniture, it looks stupid, there’s no flow to the room, and he insists that all the chairs be facing the tv. Well, that’s fine, except to do that, you have to have the furniture at funny angles, and walk around everything. He’s dug his stubborn-ass heels in and won’t listen to me that the way we had the furniture laid out before was the only way to set it up in this room and make it look nice. He then had this bright idea to block off the front door and hang a curtain over it. WTF? Who does that? It’s one thing if you have french doors or something on the back of the house and you have other exits, but the front door? Not to mention how tacky it looks when a door is blocked by furniture. It’d look like the damn trailer park! I want the room to look nice, fuck the tv! If people come over and everyone wants to watch tv, we can move the chair then! But otherwise, leave it where it was! His friends all live in their parents’ basements, or have bachelor pad with one tiny tv their parents gave them when they moved out, and an electrical wire spool for a coffee table, so they all like to come to our house cause it’s clean, we have beer, a big tv, and there’s always toilet paper on the roll. I hate that. BYOB, dammit, and my house is not the local hangout. They have bars for that. Oh yeah. The Ute is being ornery again. Crimson sunsets are scarce, it seems. I’m so burnt out. I can’t wait for vacation. I plan to drink strawberry Bacardis and ignore my husband.